


Overflow

by SilverScaler3000



Category: The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: ...help, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Gentle Sex, Getting Together, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this instead of attending virtual classes, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Blood, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Panic Attacks, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverScaler3000/pseuds/SilverScaler3000
Summary: "A criminal Ratigan may be, but even he would never so much as think to commit an atrocity such as rape."Basil has hidden himself away in his home at Baker Street for over four months. Ratigan, curious as to why the detective is acting so abnormally, pays him a visit.
Relationships: (one sided), Basil of Baker Street/OMC, Basil of Baker Street/Padraic Ratigan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [x_los](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/gifts).



> Disclaimer: no teapots were hurt in the making of this fic

The teapot shattered spectacularly as it hit the floor.

Ratigan’s eyes followed one of the larger shards that skidded across the tiles. It came to a stop just shy of his foot, and a puddle began forming quickly after it; Earl Grey, if his nose was to be believed. He glanced back up, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

Basil looked equally shocked, his own eyes comically wide as he stared at the rat in his kitchen. A table stood between them, but in such a tiny space, and what with Ratigan’s large size, the distance felt minuscule.

The detective wasn’t in his traditional getup - his hat being the most noticeable article of clothing missing - but rather in a purple bathrobe, which was tied loosely around his waist. Ratigan could see a faint tremor in his hands, one of which was bandaged. If the police report he’d had stolen was accurate, Basil’s left wrist was sprained, and, on the same hand, his thumb and index finger were broken. It was hardly the most painful injury the so-called _Great Mouse Detective_ had ever sustained, having suffered worse from numerous criminals - including Ratigan. Basil had never allowed any of his injuries to inhibit him in the past, which was what made his self-imposed isolation all the more puzzling.

Ratigan had heard through the whispers of the underground that his nemesis suffered a rather nasty encounter during his investigation and eventual arrest of a new opposing crime lord; one he would have dealt with himself, eventually, had the detective not beaten him to it. After all, he was the only rat who could hold power in London. It was his territory, and he did not take kindly to others intruding upon it.

As was characteristic of Basil, he met his new opponent head-on, confronting the scoundrel in person and swiftly bringing him to justice. It took him barely a week to crack down on the newest scum that had invaded Britain’s sewers, save for the hiccup that was this mysterious confrontation no one seemed to know the details of. One might have not thought too much on it, except, no sooner had Basil thrown the man in jail, he’d completely cut himself off from the world. He remained in his home, and, as far as anyone knew, had completely halted all of his investigations. 

That was four months ago.

Upon realizing that Basil had been absent from all crime-related activity in London, Ratigan ordered his henchmen look into the matter. What little information they had gathered was incredibly vague, much to his irritation. The only thing anyone seemed to know for sure, was that Basil was a broken mouse. 

Determined to get answers himself, Ratigan snuck into Baker Street in the dead of night. He’d been absolutely bored out of his mind without a worthy adversary to follow his twists and turns, and suspected that Basil’s disappearance was merely a ploy of some kind to give criminals a sense of free reign before he hunted them down with a renewed fervor. 

The sight he was met with now, however, told a very different story. 

In the five minutes they had spent staring at one another, Basil still had not moved, nor had he spoken. He was barely even breathing, appearing to be frozen in place save for a mild trembling which now shook his frame, eyes wide and fearful. 

A frown formed on Ratigan’s lips before he could school his expression. 

In the past, he had always found Basil’s bravery, while annoying at times, to be admirable. The detective flaunted his intelligence like a performer on a stage, unafraid because he knew his enemies better than they knew themselves. He deduced their greatest strengths, and with little to no effort, turned them into weaknesses. Watching him now, standing terrified and unsure in his own home, did not sit right with Ratigan - not at all. 

Mindful of Basil’s eyes on him, he bent down slowly, plucking the shard of teapot off the ground. “What a waste,” he tutted as he straightened again, turning the piece this way and that in his hand. “Did I really startle you that badly?”

Basil didn’t reply, appearing not to have registered any of what Ratigan had said. His breathing was beginning to turn panicked, in fact, shaky inhales and exhales that sounded like thunderclaps in the small room. His trembling was visibly worsening as well, the mouse practically vibrating in place.

Frown deepening, Ratigan took a step forward - to do what, exactly, he was not sure - and that was when Basil finally reacted. In an instant he was running, feet crunching loudly as he stepped on the remains of his teapot, and for the span of a few seconds, Ratigan was too startled to move. Then, like a shot, he tore after him.

Basil had both home-field advantage and the smaller stature that his house was meant for, but Ratigan was faster. The mouse had only just made it into his sitting room when he was tackled from behind.

They both fell with a great thud, the air leaving Basil’s chest loudly as he took on Ratigan’s weight. Basil had somehow managed to land on his back and was now staring up at him with unconcealed horror. 

Not wanting to crush the detective before getting his answers, Ratigan pushed himself up onto his elbows. “That was certainly uncharacteristic of you,” he began, “Perhaps you would care to explain why-” He was cut off as a fist connected with his snout. “What the blazes!?” 

Basil tried to punch him again but this time Ratigan was quicker, catching his wrist and holding it in a punishing grip. 

“Basil, what in god's name is wrong with you?” he demanded, fully expecting the mouse to give up now that he had clearly been beaten. Instead, much to his vexation, Basil began to thrash under him. 

Ratigan swiftly sat up on his knees and forcibly turned Basil so that he was lying on his stomach, pinning the detective down by their shoulders with his hands. Even then they did not cease wriggling and continued to claw frantically at the rug beneath them. Regardless of the tremendous pain that had to follow from such an action, his injured hand too was grappling with the floor. His behavior was akin to that of a wild animal, and Ratigan lost his patience as an elbow nearly bashed itself into his eye.

“ _Enough!_ ” he bellowed.

Basil finally stilled, his face turned to the right so that it wasn’t pressed into the ground.

Ratigan growled lowly. “What. Happened?” 

Basil shut his eyes tightly but otherwise did not move or attempt to reply. 

Ratigan sneered, grabbing Basil by the scruff of his neck and pulling him upward by it. “I expect an answer when I am speaking to you,” he hissed, shaking him. 

Basil’s robe began to slip down his shoulders, and once more the detective resumed his struggles; their panic returning with force. 

Ratigan snarled in anger, slamming him back down. “Why you insolent little…” He trailed off, staring at Basil’s back. 

At first, he thought for sure he was imagining things. It had to be a trick of the light. 

Wanting, no, _needing_ a closer inspection, he tore the fabric of Basil’s robe down the middle with his claws, ignoring the pitiful whimper the detective gave at the action. Even after the scraps were cast aside, the sight Ratigan was met with was unchanged. An unexpected lump formed in his throat as the reality of what he was seeing set in, and, in his shock, he let go of Basil.

The detective rushed out from under him and raced to a corner of the room, tripping and stumbling most of the way. Once there, he fell gracelessly to the floor and curled into a tiny ball, sobbing uncontrollably with his face pressed into his knees; back remaining bare and exposed for Ratigan to see.

Right below Basil’s shoulder blades, the word **whore** had been carved into his flesh.


	2. Chapter 2

Ratigan was at a complete loss. For an eternity that may only have been a few seconds, he could only stare at his broken nemesis. When a particularly pained whimper cut through the air, however, he found himself moving forwards. His steps were slow, almost mechanical, and he did not truly register just what he was doing until he stood directly above the detective. 

A fire which had been burning unnoticed in a fireplace until that point caught his attention, and he watched curiously as the light from it flickered across Basil’s small form. The letters that had been etched crookedly into his back were pink and raw; his fur refusing to grow back even all these months. Perhaps it never would. Basil’s remaining coat, Ratigan noted, was not its usual, glossy brown, but rather had become a sort of ashen, as if it had not seen the sun in a long while. The mouse was also a great deal skinnier than he had been previously. 

It was horrid, seeing how desecrated Basil’s body had become. Once upon a time, seeing the detective broken at his feet would have brought him immense satisfaction, but this was just sickening. A criminal Ratigan may be, but even he would never so much as _think_ to commit an atrocity such as rape. 

Of course, he had no quells about maiming or murdering any who opposed him. He spilled blood without hesitation; it had been second nature to him for practically all of his life. Being an orphan, Irish, and a _rat_ , Ratigan had spent much of his early childhood on the streets of London. He was exposed to hundreds of violent crimes as a result and had committed just as many with absolutely no remorse. However, after witnessing first-hand the barbarity that was using an unwilling person's body for sick, carnal pleasure, Ratigan found that the act in its entirety appalled him. He could not explain why, but that was where his weak morals drew the line. 

Moving so that he was now standing in front of the detective rather than behind him, Ratigan’s eyes quickly trained in on a small pool of blood forming on the floor. Evidently, during his unsuccessful escape attempt, a shard of Basil’s teapot had managed to bury itself deep in the arch of his foot. 

Ratigan kneeled down, keeping his movements slow and unthreatening. “Basil,” he murmured softly. 

Basil had initially frozen upon Ratigan’s proximity, but at his name being spoken, he peeked out from behind his knees. Tears were glistening in his eyes, soaking his cheeks each time he blinked, and Ratigan was overcome with the urge to dry them. Pushing the thought aside, he moved instead to begin examining Basil’s foot, the detective’s stare following him all the while. 

It was not a pretty sight, and Ratigan winced in sympathy. Concluding that the shard would have to be removed carefully if he wanted to avoid causing any nerve damage, he grasped Basil’s foot gently but firmly in one hand, the other moving to pinch the shard between two fingers. He then glanced back up to meet Basil’s gaze calmly, seeking permission from the detective before moving forwards.

Basil appeared to be having a difficult time processing everything that was happening - which, in of itself, was completely out of character for him. “Ratigan,” he whispered, the first word he had uttered since this whole fiasco began. 

“Present,” Ratigan said, smirking, though not unkindly. 

Basil’s mouth twitched into an almost smile. A moment later he schooled his expression and nodded in assent, visibly bracing himself.

Ratigan took great care as he pulled the shard free, mindful of each pained whimper Basil gave despite their attempts to stay silent. No protest or demands that Ratigan stop ever came, however, and, as soon as the shard was completely free, Ratigan tossed it carelessly behind himself. 

The wound, which had been bleeding sluggishly up until that point, was now comparable to a faucet. Once again Ratigan found himself moving before his mind even had the chance to realize what he was doing - this time with much more surprising results. 

He _licked_ Basil’s foot, the mouse’s blood sharp and coppery on his tongue. 

Basil gasped in surprise, and Ratigan glanced upwards. His breath caught in his throat at the vision he was met with.

The fire burning behind the mouse lit him like a halo, giving him an ethereal appearance. Part of what little remained of Basil’s bathrobe had slipped indecently off his left shoulder, baring his chest, and the detective’s pupils had blown so wide that their eyes were more black than green. 

Never before had Ratigan beheld a more tempting sight, and he swallowed a rather indecent moan, knowing that such a lude act would probably send Basil into another panic. He instead continued to lick Basil - from his heel to his toes and back again - until the bleeding eased somewhat, after which it took the work of only a few seconds to remove the scarf wrapped around his own neck and tear it into strips. He quickly used them as impromptu bandages, stanching the blood flow completely. 

He was so absorbed in what he was doing, that he startled when the backs of Basil’s fingers brushed softly along the side of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” Basil whispered guiltily. 

Ratigan blinked, confused at first as to what the detective was apologizing for. A moment later though understanding dawned on him, and he chuckled good-naturedly. “It’s quite alright,” he assured. He was probably going to develop quite the bruise, but he could care less at this point. When Basil looked unconvinced, he continued, saying, “I must admit though, for such a little mouse, you certainly know how to throw a punch.”

Basil bristled. “L-Little!?” he repeated. He began scrubbing furiously at his cheeks with his arm, rubbing away the evidence of his tears. “I will have you know that I am above average height, thank you very much.” 

“Truly?” Ratigan question, his tone light and teasing. “Your fist is so small that I scarcely felt anything, in all honesty.”

Basil glared at him. “You are intolerable, and I sincerely doubt you have ever been honest a day in your life.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

“ _Liar_.”

“Of course,” Ratigan soothed, barely concealing a laugh with a cough as Basil’s glare intensified. There, this was the detective that always managed to, unapologetically, get underfoot. 

That gave Ratigan pause, reminded of just how easily Basil had nearly been lost. He ground his teeth, clenching his hands into fists at the thought of what was done to his nemesis. _His_. 

“I’ll kill him,” he growled.

Basil’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not!” he snapped, attempting to sit up, only to cry out in pain. He grasped his left hand to his chest with his right, reminding Ratigan that it was injured, and most likely aggravated after all the struggling the mouse had done. 

He sighed and reached forwards, bringing Basil’s hand to his face so that he could examine it. “Don’t excite yourself,” he chided. 

" _Excite_ myself? ” Basil exclaimed, wincing as Ratigan gently tested for damage, moving their wrist and hand experimentally. “You are talking about murder!”

“I believe most would refer to it as ‘justice’.”

“Not in my eyes it isn't. I have already dealt with-” 

Ratigan paused his examination to look at him. Basil had paled significantly, and he swallowed several times before continuing. 

“I have handled _him_ accordingly,” they eventually finished.

Ratigan scoffed. “Oh yes, her majesty's cells, where food and shelter are provided, are most certainly punishment enough for a dog such as… _him_.” 

It felt odd to avoid saying the man's name, but clearly, even talking about the rat in question put Basil in an uncomfortable position. Regardless, they stubbornly continued to argue with him.

“It is punishment enough,” Basil insisted. “Even without the damning accusation of rape, his other crimes will see him sentenced to life in prison.”

Ratigan's vision went red and he had to remind himself not to squeeze Basil’s hand punishingly. “You would keep what he has done to you from the world?” he hissed. “Let his lechery go without penalty?”

Basil’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes,” he stated, quietly, though not without an undercurrent of malice. “And I would thank you to keep everything you have learned here tonight to yourself, Ratigan. I cannot afford to give my enemies any heinous ideas as to what they could do to my body. This moment of weakness is ours alone.”

The fact that Basil believed, no, that he _knew_ Ratigan would do no such thing himself, should not have stirred something protective within him. He sighed in frustration, releasing Basil’s hand. It was no worse for wear; the bandages had held up surprisingly well. 

“You are far from weak,” he found himself saying. “In fact, you are perhaps the strongest person I know.”

Basil squirmed uncomfortably, and Ratigan thought he could see a faint blush alight his cheeks.

“Liar,” Basil said again, though this time he sounded unsure.

Ratigan clucked his tongue. “You have been violated, yes, but not broken. That filthy maggot, on the other hand-”

“I shall say this only one more time,” Basil cut him off, “You will do _nothing_ to him.”

“Oh I won’t, will I?” Ratigan sneered, irked by the audacity Basil was showing in assuming that he could order him about.

He stood abruptly and began to pace, his cape flaring out each time he turned. “Prison is not punishment enough!” he exclaimed. “The strong dominate the weak in a place such as that, Basil, you know this as well as I do. I guarantee he is already at the top of the food chain there.”

“But he has no freedom, and shall die without ever knowing what it is like to walk in the world without shackles again,” Basil countered, tilting his nose upwards in an authoritative manner. “You will not take my own form of retribution for crimes done against me and twist them to your liking.”

“I will see him hang by his balls at the top of Big Ben for his actions!” Ratigan roared.

“As charming an image that is, no. Please no.” Basil reached forwards with his uninjured hand and used it to grasp Ratigan’s as he passed by, staring at him imploringly. “ _Please._ ”

It was at that moment Ratigan realized how much danger he was in. He could not refuse Basil, not when he looked at him like that. He turned his head away quickly but found that the damage was already done.

“Fine,” he ground out, speaking more to the rug than to the mouse in front of him. “I would not sully my hands with the likes of him anyhow, not for the Queen’s crown jewels.” 

Basil’s hand squeezed his, drawing his attention back to him. “Thank you,” he said, smiling.

Ratigan’s expression mirrored his before he could stop himself. He huffed, shaking his head. “I do not believe anyone has ever thanked me for _not_ harming their assailant. You are a strange one indeed, Basil of Baker Street.” 

“I would normally take offense to that, but, as it is you saying it, I shall take it as a compliment.”

Ratigan chuckled, returning to his knees so that he and Basil were closer to eye level with one another. “Feeling better, then?”

Basil’s smile fell instantly. He ducked his head, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, sounding anything but.

“And here I thought that _I_ was liar,” Ratigan admonished, regretting his words when Basil flinched.

“What would you have me say?” he asked helplessly. “I’d normally be embarrassed by my behavior, but,” he shrugged, “I am, admittedly, still fighting my own body's irrational belief that you are someone else.”

Ah, that explained a great deal. 

“Surely I am much more fearsome than that Knob Head?” Ratigan asked, pouting. 

Basil blinked several times, stunned, then burst out laughing. It was a delightful thing to watch, the sorrow and misery leaving his face and being replaced with joy. It made Ratigan’s heart flutter in a manner that he promised to forget. Later.

“The fiercest,” Basil eventually managed, still snickering. He shivered a moment later, clearly not yet over his shock - or perhaps genuinely growing colder now that his fire was dying down. 

After glancing around, Ratigan pulled a blanket from one of the sitting chairs and wrapped it around Basil’s shoulders. Basil sighed with obvious relief, snuggling into the offered warmth. Ratigan found it oddly adorable. 

“Whatever am I going to do with you?” he asked, tilting Basil’s chin up with his finger. 

The detective went uncharacteristically silent, biting his bottom lip as though pondering something. His decision apparently made, he placed a hand on Ratigan’s arm, pulling him closer so that he could whisper in his ear.

“ _Make me forget them_.”


End file.
